The Misadventures of Kinney and Taylor
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: The many misadventures of Pittsburgh's hottest stud Brian Kinney, and his partner-in-crime Justin Taylor. Together they roamed Liberty Avenue not looking for trouble and finding plenty.
1. Yoghurt, A Table And An Interruption

**THE MISADVENTURES OF KINNEY AND TAYLOR**

**PROMPT #1: BLACKBERRY YOGHURT, A TABLE AND AN INTERRUPTION**

"The store had a four for one deal on blackberry yoghurt, so I figured I'd make use of it," Justin was saying whilst unloading groceries onto the kitchen table. Brian, for his part, pretended not to listen- shopping or anything food related did not interest him in the slightest. As far as he was concerned, coupons were nothing more than scraps of colourful paper designed to make the customer feel satisfied when they waved it under the sales assistant's nose at the till. No, he could not care less, so he flicked to the next page of his porno mag loudly as a hint.

"Coupons are great," his boyfriend continued, apparently unaware of the gesture. "This past week we've saved around fifteen bucks on food."

_Who's the "we"?_

"…and if we save twenty bucks more we get fifteen percent off all tins of soup when you spend two bucks or more."

Brian still remained impressively concentrated on his magazine, trying to drown out the optimistic chirping going on in the background. Another loud flick and he was launched into page fifty-eight, where three tanned and oiled Adonis' wrestled about on a gym mat. Now _that_ was eye candy. And… upon studying the glossy page closer, he remembered with a smile that he'd had all three of them- two at the same time- no sooner than last Friday night. Wasn't it a small world?

"…do you want to eat for dinner?"

"Huh…" Brian murmured noncommittally, thumbing another page. Now for some beautiful twinks in neon coloured thongs. An eyesore in the normal world, but cast them under the heat, thump and blaring hot lights of Babylon and they were a delight. His hazel eyes zeroed in on the lean, dark-skinned man in the middle, who was holding a tub of yoghurt with one eyebrow raised suggestively. "Had him."

"Are you reading that awful porn magazine again? Have you been listening to anything I've said?"

Only slight guilt tore his eyes away from the page.

"Uh… you saved dough at the grocery store and… what do I want for dinner? Tuna pasta."

He tried not to smile when Justin looked a little gobsmacked. Besides, a hint of an idea was forming in his mind: yoghurt… Now _there_ was an innovative idea. The thought of sweet cream sliding a tempting trail down a lean, impeccably smooth body- waiting for a fresh tongue to devour it- made his cock twitch violently.

And hadn't Sunshine just mentioned some ridiculous deal on the stuff at the grocery store? There couldn't be more opportune timing to play out this new fantasy than… now. At that point, Brian was more interested in what his boyfriend (or thereabouts) was doing- emptying a bag of fusilli pasta and tuna steaks. Dinner. But he was entirely hungry for some other form of entertainment, which was why his eyes travelled slowly from the mundane scene to a stack of blackberry yoghurts almost teetering off the edge of the kitchen table.

From there it was back to undressing Justin with his eyes and imagining him writhing on a bed of yoghurt, moaning as Brian's serpentine tongue wove a trail of warm moisture all over pert, pink nipples…

"Tuna in brine or sunflower oil?"

"Sunflower Oil," he replied with a predatory smile that went unnoticed. "Oh- and loads of tomato sauce, basil, olives and pepper."

"You got it!" Justin enthused with a smile- evidently surprised at the specifications. "Good thing I bought all those ingredients!"

"Uh huh." Brian leaned forward on his elbows, eyeing the younger man up and down as though someone might appreciate a delicious meal before devouring it. His meticulous gaze missed nothing; not the silky blond hair hanging loosely off Justin's forehead, the bright, optimistic eyes, tiny hairs above succulent lips, his delectable neck, his lean torso and artistic fingers… The familiar stirrings of desire began at the pit of Brian's empty stomach- like a creaky clockwork coming to life after lubrication; he was hungry. Yet it was not going to be tuna pasta that would sate his raging lust.

It was this damn coupon-loving ray of Sunshine.

"Can I have a yoghurt, Justin? Can you get me a spoon?"

"Sure…"

With subtle, eager fingers, Brian slowly unpeeled it, polished off the top and then dug in slowly. He was an excavator, digging for treasure and upon retrieving his spoon from the tempting swirl of purple and white, he was sure to moan appreciatively as he savoured the contents of his spoon.

As expected, Justin glanced up with a nervous smile, before quickly focusing his attention on a bag of rice.

Too quickly.

So Brian dug in again and this time was careful to suck the yoghurt off his spoon, knowing that Justin would be fighting within himself not to look up again. But how weak his boyfriend was- how easily Sunshine yielded to carnal desires. Hesitant blue eyes flickered upwards again and lingered on the ebb and flow of his lips with a hungry expression- all before he seemed to realize once more that there were groceries to be unpacked. Brian smiled once more, licked his mouth in anticipation of the pleasures to be explored very soon.

"Why Sunshine," he drawled in his huskiest tone, "Wouldn't you like some yoghurt too?"

"Uh. Later." Frantic fingers scrabbled over some tins- Justin nearly dropped the lot. Panic, Brian reasoned in his mind, trying not to laugh- panic meant his boyfriend was losing his touch. Meant Sunshine was contemplating total and utter submission. The message had been received and understood much faster than back in the good old days when Justin couldn't tell Boy Toy from Meat Hook. Sex was in the air- and yoghurt was involved. They both knew it; the only question was who broke first- and how fast.

"You seem _awfully_ keen to put away all these groceries. Sure there's nothing on your mind?"

At this, the restless fingers gave up on trying to regroup the tins and Justin looked up a little more sharply than before.

"Could you stop rolling your tongue all over that, or whatever it is you are doing? It's really distracting."

Brian responded the only way he wanted to; by trailing his tongue agonizingly slowly all the way along his bottom lip, crossing the corner and completing the same crawl along the top. He heard Justin breathe out slowly, turn his eyes to a pile of carrots and aubergines, presumably trying to rid his mind of all the evil temptations that had invaded it.

"Why don't you stop trying to be a fucking priest and come over here- preferably now? Sounds fair to me."

"Demanding sex always sounds fair to you."

Brian took a small pause from his smouldering seduction to laugh a little. As much as he hated to admit it, he did secretly enjoy Justin's surly retorts- which was rather astonishing seeing as he had never contemplated sleeping with someone who didn't always worship the ground he walked on. Unfortunately, his inherent weakness in having a boyfriend was known to a select few.

Was he becoming a sap?

Justin absolutely loved him. But he was to learn that quite apart from a lovesick damsel, he had a shrewd manipulator on his hands- who wouldn't take bullshit.

This was bad news for the King of Bullshit.

There was still one weapon he could wield: sex. Passionate exercise was what kept Justin running after him like a puppy day after day, rain or shine. Sex was the alarm clock in the morning, the bed time story at night. Sex killed time and quarrels. Sex was how they showered. Sex was... Brian Kinney.

"You know if you don't come to _me_… I'm going to have to come to _you_… And we both know what happens when I do…"

Justin apparently did not need further persuasion, Brian concluded with satisfaction- even if his boyfriend was scanning him up and down as though he were checking for a concealed weapon.

"Good boy."

"Stop saying that; it's so patronising."

"Temper, temper, Sunshine! I can't help being horny-" He grabbed hold of Justin lazily, pulling him in until they were inches apart. "And you can't help being weak in the flesh…"

Whatever else he might have said was lost in a feverish kiss, tongues twisting and swirling in between. Brian smiled into the caress when he felt Justin's arms snake around his neck almost immediately- there was nothing like an eager playmate.

"Mmm, Brian… Tastes like yoghurt."

"Four for one deal, huh?" Brian murmured into his mouth with a small chuckle. "That's a lot of cream for one man to handle, no?" In response, he felt Justin's lips trailing the length of his neck and shoulders.

"You wanna use food? That's _so_ kinky…"

"Kinky" is such a judgmental word; I prefer… wildly creative. Beautifully vulgar. Wonderfully crazy."

"That's six words."

"You mean you can _count_ too? No way, Sherlock!"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Surrender was imminent.

Justin had always known this from the very beginning, but that didn't stop him hoping otherwise.

He was lying on his back, skin in contact with the cold, smooth table surface. Brian was standing close enough for their groins to press against his, gently tipping a creamy stream of blackberry yoghurt down his chest. Plump lips would soon follow, enclosing Justin's hard nipples… Just the sensation of lips on sensitive skin drove him crazy. His whole body was a fireball of sensation; it seemed every spot Brian hit was the cusp of a sensitive nerve, releasing hundreds of pleasure endorphins into his body.

If the reasons that he tumbled into bed with Brian most nights could be boiled down to just one, it was simply that his lover was so thorough. Justin often thought of their sexual congress as a wrestling match. Each was battling to pin the other down before that golden bell rang, ecstasy racing through their bodies… A year ago, when he was eager and unskilled, he entertained the notion that he could easily resist Brian's skilled technique- now he knew the best he could do was delay in the inevitable- whether it be by biting his lip, trying to overpower his opponent or abstaining… Brian overcame them all.

That was when he knew surrender was imminent.

After all, his clenched fingers were lost in great tufts of Brian's hair, his muscles were stretched to the limit, pushing his body up to greet the onslaught. There was no question that two different trains of thought also lost inside Justin's mind- one said he should fight, the other reminded him how much he loved submitting. True to the letter, he was moaning Brian's name as more sweet liquid dribbled down his chest with a hot, pulsing, athletic tongue to follow.

_And that was only foreplay._

Four tubs were finished before Brian leaned back with that irrepressible smirk of his, reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny square of silver plastic.

"You're going to fuck me?" Justin breathed, barely getting over the first round.

"No, I just enjoy touching condom wrappers- of course, I'm going to fuck you!"

Perhaps Justin would have said something more had not his gaping lips been shut off by Brian's for a few unconscious moments. He was gasping when they broke away, groin tingling in anticipation of what was to come.

"Lube…" he managed to whisper. "Need some lube."

"Fear not, Sunshine…" Brian disappeared and was back within seconds, waving a tube right under Justin's nose. "For ease of access and peace of mind."

Justin laughed nervously as he was roughly rolled onto his front, his jeans were yanked down.

"Easy…" he protested feebly. There was no response until he felt Brian leaning over to nuzzle his shoulder. "Please, Brian. I want to be able to… walk in a straight line afterwards." He felt his lover laugh into his neck, shivered at the light contact.

"You know me, Sunshine; I can show some restraint from time to time."

"That's a hilarious- argh!"

The first thrust was always the shock- a decisive, unapologetic breach of his defences, a jolt to the senses. Brian's version of taking it easy was withdrawing at a delicate pace that left Justin whimpering into the table; not long afterwards he was back to clenching his fingers, squeezing his eyes, biting his lips. He had learnt by know that the first stages were always exceedingly methodical, but once Brian had reached a certain number of thrusts, all hell broke loose. The mechanical hips thumping against his backside suddenly transformed into a life of their own, bone melted into liquid grinding at liberty. Justin could no longer prepare himself for the strength and severity of each attack because he had lost his mind. He didn't know whether he was even himself, or just a floating ball of pleasure, crying out over and over.

Time lost all meaning, except during the countdown until his growing spark would explode into a flame of passion, all control lost. That moment approached fast. He was reaching the stage where he began to thrust himself back against Brian, creating even more friction and making his lover gasp louder. Now he could feel Brian's hands begin to explore the length and breadth of back, his hair was pulled. Vicious bites peppered his shoulders. His neck protested when it was yanked back to provide Brian with a searing kiss- testament to the heightened anticipation of an explosion into Paradise. Their wet lips locked together, regardless of the painful angle. Justin wished he could wrap his arms around Brian's neck but the latter practically had him pinned to the table.

"Please," he groaned, barely able to breathe, "Do it to me… Make me come…"

As if by magic, a volcano erupted somewhere inside of him, sending shuddering waves right through every single nerve. A beautiful pyroclastic flow of his own load burst free of his cock whilst he felt the rubber inflate inside his ass as his lover reached his peak and tumbled over into freedom. Brian was lying on his back- never was the increased contact more welcome at that point. Because he was suddenly superhuman, riding on clouds, climbing mountains, crashing waves…

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"What the _fuck_?"

Brian was- _had been_- panting against Justin's back when he heard someone knocking insistently at the door. His first instinct was to ignore it, but then all kinds of worst-case scenario's cropped up: someone he fucked coming back to cop another one, that idiot from his local takeaway, The Munchers…

With a string of curses, he withdrew, cleaned himself up and strode over to the door.

"Mrs Taylor!"

What a great time to appear. Brian moved to his right, ensuring she could definitely _not_ see her beloved son half naked, panting over the kitchen table. First impressions were everything. And now to play it extra cool to buy Justin some time…

"What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Not so humble," the older woman laughed, brushing back her hair. "Justin left his favourite sketchbook at home, so I thought I'd bring it over."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

"He's… here, isn't he?"

"Just…ah, sleeping. Tired after… drawing, I guess. Or painting. Or collage." What the fuck was he babbling about?

He winced as something crashed loudly behind him, followed by a succession of colourful curses. Trying not to catch Mrs Taylor's disapproving frown, and knowing that she was just about to skew his alibi, he immediately jumped in.

"Ah! Looks like he's awake! Hey, Justin- your mother's just brought over your sketchbook!"

"Is he alright?" Mrs Taylor whispered. "He always gets so annoyed when he drops things since… you know."

"He's fine. You're fine aren't you, Justin?"

"Uh, yup," came the hesitant answer. "Ow... ow, ow, fuck…"

"Sweetie?"

"It's okay, Mom; I'll live."

Brian buried his face inside his hands. He couldn't very well impose restrictions on the time she came to visit because he spent a good proportion of his day engaged in some kind of sexual activity. In such a case, she would be walking in on the most daring and inventive scenes with a variety of willing participants that would do little to soften her heart towards him. Mrs Taylor, for all her disapproval, was growing on him; he liked her and was secretly striving to appear more appropriate, at least when she was around. So the last thing worth doing was pulling back his door to see Justin wiping yoghurt and… _something else_ off his body, scrambling back into his clothes and tiptoeing about like a cat on a hot tin roof thanks to the ache in his ass.

"Bit cranky after a nap, aren't you, honey?"

"What nap?"

"You were sleeping," Brian cut in quickly. "Honey."

"Ah, right- yes! Just… woken up, in fact." Another crash and some even more colourful language.

"Justin what on earth is going on?" Mrs Taylor demanded, sidestepping Brian to peer inside. "You don't sound like you can even walk in a straight line! Were you out drinking last night?"

"You don't wanna know," Brian muttered under his breath. And louder: "Yes, why _do_ things keep falling to the floor, Justin?"

"Tins of tuna and shit just stacked precariously…everywhere, you know."

Mrs Taylor frowned, raised and eyebrow at Brian, and then stepped back. Brian let out a small sigh of relief, as she pursed her lips, shaking her head. That "motherly" expression- resignation to the fact that sons would never be understood.

"Just as long as you are alive…"

"Yup! Ow."

Brian bit his lips to keep from smiling. Good thing he knew a couple of people who did deep rectal massages else Sunshine would be confined to his bed all day.

"Why does he keep-"

"Is something hard hurting you, honey?" Brian cut in, still trying not to laugh. "Why don't you just sit down until the pain goes away?"

"Don't call me honey, I'm not two- ouch. Ah."

"See you later, Justin!" Mrs Taylor called inwards, completely lost. "Hope the _ouch_ gets cured!"

"I'll see to that."

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Brian laughed. "Your Mom's kind of sweet…"

"Guess the bedroom would be a better bet next time."

"Oh, the table worked alright for me. Great friction."

"Well, it's not like _you_ were pinned to cold lino; my ass is on fire."

"No pain, no gain."

"Said Brian Kinney, who is always top! By the way, your alibi's suck. Sleeping? That the best you could come up with?"

"It's called "thinking on the spot." A lot easier said than done."

"Given the amount of drugs you consume, I would agree. Still, could be worse, I guess. We do seem to make love at the most inconvenient times- not to mention the worst places. Like over Michael's car the other night. You were furious when a neighbour snitched on us."

Brian laughed again, remembering Michael making him hose down the violated car twice whilst vowing to murder him if they ever did that again. Justin had got off relatively lightly- a mere slap on the wrist, which he thought was outrageous.

"In Emmett's shop between the clothes racks? That was _quite_ a cliff-hanger. He almost cried when he found out I had _squirted_ all over some expensive costumes. I had to cough up $1500 to replace them. I _insist_ that DKNY mini- jacket was only $250, but he wouldn't listen to me!"

"Behind the counter at the Diner?" Justin suggested, laughing at the former anecdote. "Debbie showed all the customers the CCTV footage the next day. Then my mom came in for coffee and couldn't work out why everyone else was killing themselves laughing. I have never been so humiliated in my life."

"Why? It was our much-celebrated film debut, Sunshine! What about when we fucked in The Munchers kitchen and you had to hide under the table all sweaty and naked until they finished _screeching_ at me for exposing myself where food was being prepared?"

"Thanks for covering for me."

"Who said it was for you?"

Justin smiled impishly, leaned in to kiss him slightly more tenderly than the feverish haste of before. "It's _always _for me. I'm onto your little game of pretence, remember? Anyway, all those shenanigans have made me hungry."

"You up for one more?"

"Not that- I mean _food_ hungry."

"I guess I could eat," Brian shrugged, tracing his finger along Justin's collar.

"Tuna pasta?" Justin slid onto his lap, hands cupping both sides of his neck.

"Tuna pasta."

"Loads of tomato sauce, basil, olives and pepper?"

How the fuck did he remember all those things word for word? His answering thought was cut off by an even gentler kiss that caressed the entirety of his lips. Ridiculously romantic- ugh… and yet he felt himself leaning forward to increase the contact.

"And what about dessert?"

A radiant smile blocked the streams of evening sunlight streaming through his kitchen window. Or maybe that was his poetic imagination running wild. Whatever the simile was, he was kissing that smile once again, exploring those wild curves of Justin's lips until he had to break away for air. The reverie was broken- at least for now, but the atmosphere had cooled down from desperately heated to quietly intimate. These were the moments where they stopped being two endlessly horny fuck buddies and transformed (regardless of his considerable reluctance) into Brian and Justin. Two as one, an undeniable bond holding them together. And now his boyfriend wanted to make him dinner.

He could have protested. He could have decided to flee this dangerously monogamous activity to the safe confines of Babylon. He could simply have announced that he was going to bed.

Instead he simply leaned onto his elbows and smiled. Tuna pasta for dinner, Justin Taylor for dessert.

What more could he want?

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**


	2. Doppelganger, Lace, Escape

**PROMPT #2: LACE, A DOPPELGANGER AND AN ESCAPE**

(Suggested by: Kam (from )(Anonymous Reviewer)- Thanks very much!)

* * *

"Give me one good reason why you won't come!"

"I'm an enlightened homo." Brian rolled onto his back, reaching for a cigarette. He'd been subject to police interrogation all afternoon ever since he committed the crime of refusing to accompany Mr Justin Taylor to an upcoming dinner party. _Hell no_ was apparently an insufficient answer; Justin wanted psychological details. Well, Dr Taylor: he, Brian Kinney, didn't do non-sex related intimate gatherings- mostly because he ended up running his mouth, offending others and being thrown out. Quite apart from the fact dinner parties spoke of happy homes and stable relationships- both concepts which he was allergic to.

With a small frown, he lit his cigarette, watching the end glow a harsh orange and small tendrils of smoke begin to waft into the aether.

"What do I ask of you?"

"Too fucking much."

"—I mean, what is the worst I ask of you in our relationship?"

"That you call it a "relationship"?" Brian guessed casually. When he caught sight of Justin's expression, he bit his lip, wishing he hadn't spoken. "Hey… that was a joke."

"Don't apologise. I'll go with someone else."

_Praise the Lord, Hallelujah!_

"See? I _knew_ we could work this out in a civilised manner! Now _both_ of us are happy!"

He was _so_ headed for the silent treatment tomorrow…

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Which is precisely what happened.

After he came home from work, Justin, who appeared to be deeply engrossed in his sketchbook, did not acknowledge him. Several hours elapsed in this awkward manner; with Brian desperately trying not to let on that he wanted to talk by pretending to read at his desk, pretending to listen to a CD, pretending to watch porn on his computer… All until Babylon opened- and eleven pm could not have come any slower than it did then. He was almost willing to surrender when he glanced at his watch and realized the club would be open… But then he remembered that Justin wasn't speaking to him. And if his boyfriend decided to stay at home… well, somehow the fine-toned bodies of Babylon didn't interest him quite as much.

His predictions came true when he found himself yawning repeatedly on the top rail of Babylon, and realized he was hardly paying attention to anything or anyone down below. So he only noticed the voice behind him a few seconds after it finished speaking.

"Where's Justin?"

He turned, acknowledging his best friend Michael Novotny with a lazy pat on the arm.

"At home, sulking."

"Yeah, he told me all about it in the comic store today. And I think you were way out of line."

"What happened to you taking my side by default?"

"I grew a brain! He's your _boyfriend_, Brian; you love him- more than you've ever loved anyone."

"Allegedly."

"Cut the bullshit; you never fooled me. Whether you like it or not, you are balls deep in some kind of a relationship, so take it like a man. If Ben asked me to go to a function or party that I had no interest in, I would still go, regardless."

"I'm not you."

"You are in the same position! It isn't going to hurt."

Brian shrugged, playing with his fingers. "Yeah, well- he's… giving me the silent treatment, so…"

"-So make it up to him!"

"I, well… I just don't fucking wanna go!"

"You sound like a two year old- hey- looks like Justin turned up after all…"

Brian tried to keep his searching gaze as casual as possible, watching his "boyfriend" talking to Ted Schmidt on the dance floor. Then the accountant pointed to someone else further in that he couldn't see. His patience was however rewarded when a lean, tanned man sailed into the picture, grinning devilishly. Brian noted his kohl eyeliner, lace vest and tattoo saying "Misunderstood" along his bicep with particular contempt. Then that contempt boiled into that nagging irritation as the newcomers eyes swivelled to Justin deliberately, hungrily… And a slow smile spread across Justin's mouth in response- soon they were in their own bubble, with Ted sidling off into the crowd.

"Uh oh," he heard Michael whisper besides him. Uh oh was damn right.

"Looks like they're getting along just fine," Brian commented tightly, leaning back from the railings.

"Maybe, uh, you should head down there and-"

"No, no; I wasn't invited. You know- I'm deadbeat; I think I'll make it an early night." He ruffled Michael's hair. "See ya."

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

It was half past two in the morning before Brian heard the loft door being pulled back, signalling Justin's return. Nevertheless, he remained in bed, stabbing at his pillow with a cigarette, eyebrows knit together. This perpetual simmering inside his stomach had not improved, even during a calm walk in the cool night breeze. Wine was the next best option- to no avail. He'd even tried watching a little porn, but had switched off the television five minutes into _"Hard Times"_- one of his favourite movies.

But then every other time he had watched it, he'd been lying naked on top of Justin.

Speaking of whom…

"It's late," he commented, glancing at his lover who was now lying down besides him.

"The rule was three in the morning, which it is not."

_So you're speaking to me now. How kind of you._

"Thought you were staying in?"

"Changed my mind."

Brian was itching to point out that Justin hadn't come looking for him- but that would sound far too needy, impulsive. Unless he meddled with the story a little, finding out more would be like squeezing blood from a stone.

"Where'd you go?"

"Babylon."

Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes. And then:

"I was at Babylon too, thanks for asking."

"Good for you."

"So… did you find a date?"

_Say no, say no, say-_

"Yeah."

_Shit._

"Why?" he blurted out, forgetting to contain himself.

"Have you been on Mars since last night?"

"Oh yeah. That. Yeah, I'm still not coming."

"Yeah. Why make the effort for your boyfriend?"

Brian felt a little hollow watching Justin roll away from him onto his side, the bitterness in that last statement hanging over him like a cloud of judgement. He stewed in the innate selfishness of his nature for a few moments, accompanied by generous doses of toxic smoke from his cigarette before his curiosity overcame him once more.

"Who is he?"

"Miguel."

"Know him on a first-name basis, huh?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing- just making conversation. So… how big's his dick?"

"Shut up."

"Is he hot?"

"Brian, I'm trying to sleep- give it a fucking rest, alright?"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"I'm not interested."

Brian rolled his eyes as he made his way through a sea of bodies at Woody's after work the very next day. "I'm not interested," he repeated to another admirer ogling him from a corner seat. "I'm not interested."

"Brian Kinney on sabbatical?" someone whispered behind him.

"No," he countered, spinning around. "You're not-"

He trailed off, recognizing the man in front of him. Lean, clad in another lace vest… that same "Misunderstood" tat along his bicep, the same kohl eyeliner… Wasn't this Miguel, the man Justin had met last night? The one who would be accompanying said lad to that damn dinner Party- tomorrow?

"Weren't you at Babylon last night?" he murmured before he could stop himself. Later, he wished he had kept quiet before making presumptions, because the answer was pretty embarrassing:

"No, I've just come back from Spain- see the tan?"

"Spain?"

"Country in Western Europe, sharing a border with France and Portugal. Capital is-"

"Yeah, I know where Spain is!"

"Jeez, temper, temper! Although I do _adore_ a hot-blooded man..."

"I'm not interested."

"Why did you say I was at Babylon, then?"

"Never mind," Brian just about managed to keep the confused stammer from his voice, act like the whole thing was just a vague misunderstanding that didn't matter. Inside, his mind was in total disarray. He never forgot a face- especially one as stupid as both the man he was seeing now and the one from Babylon. And Justin had to have meant the one he was taking to the Dinner Party… unless he spoke to someone else afterwards… Maybe that was it.

In which case he had just ran his mouth for no reason.

"It's forgotten. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Suit yourself."

He allowed himself to be led to the bar, and a sparkling golden drink to be placed in front of him. It was obvious that Mystery Man was still keen to pull- but even if he had no intention of obliging the stranger, this was still enough of an opportunity to put his mind at rest.

"So… what's your name?"

"Miguel."

Hey wait a minute… what had Justin said his date's name was? Miguel? And the same guy was now claiming his name was…? Something strange was going on here… "Miguel… You… you sure about that? You don't, uh, go by any other name, do you?"

"Dark and handsome!"

_You wish._

"Came back from Spain, huh?"

"Yesterday. Landed at JFK airport-"

"Fascinating," Brian cut in hastily. He had to get to the bottom of this- had no idea why he was even concerned. Part of him wanted to admit that he was scouting out the territory- but then it transpired that the "territory" was not the right territory… and both names were suspiciously similar! What the fuck was going on? "You met anyone here in the Pitts?"

"He's sitting right next to me."

"I'm not interested."

"So you keep telling me- still, a man can dream, can't he?"

"_Sure_ you haven't met anyone?"

"You sound awfully eager to ensure I am unattached! Well, put your mind at rest- I'm a lone wolf at present…"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"Justin?"

"What, Brian?"

"Uh… nothing."

Brian drummed his fingers at his desk, mind scheming madly. Miguel was Miguel was Miguel. He had to be. And yet… there was this unshakeable suspicion that the "Spain" alibi was the truth. If so, then… perhaps it was little more than a happy coincidence that two people in the same town should have such similarly ludicrous names! But that conclusion sounded like heavy bullshit too! Miguel MUST be Miguel!

"Justin."

"What?!"

"What does Miguel look like?"

He watched the lad roll his eyes, fling down his pencil.

"Lean, dark, tattoo saying "Misunderstood" along his bicep, wears lace vests and kohl eyeliner. I saw him at the Art Museum earlier."

"He… He wasn't at the Art Museum, he was at Woody's."

"What?! I was talking to him about an hour ago in the Renaissance Gallery… at the Art Museum- are you sure you have the right guy?"

"Yes- I was talking to him at Woody's an hour ago! He can't be in two places at once. Maybe you've got it wrong."

"Brian, have you been smoking something?"

"I could ask _you_ the same thing!"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Brian really didn't want to stare as Justin stumbled out of the bedroom in a suit, grappling with the tie as though it was a boa constrictor wrapped around his neck. The comparison made him smile in a manner that was dangerously affectionate. Of course, Justin had no sense of fashion whatsoever- an extraordinary characteristic for a gay boy. Quite outrageous really. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had seen Justin dressed respectably- and none of them were really memories he wanted to relive: the first time at prom, and the second time for his nineteenth birthday where he went to see that damn violin—

Moving on.

Where was he? Ah yes, trying not to stare. His eyes were most definitely fixed on his work in front of him. Not once did they stray upwards, seeking a handsomer object. Because he was completely uninterested, and deeply focused on the book in front of him.

So focused he had no idea what he was reading.

"How do I look?"

Brian was surprised Justin had asked his opinion, still under the impression that they were not on proper speaking terms. But glancing up, it seemed that Justin had discarded the spurned lover act for a bright smile… and even to hover over Brian's desk awaiting approval.

"Could be worse."

He pretended not to see the high- wattage smile disappear completely, replaced by an insulted expression- or Justin stand straight. In his mind, the detached comment was perfectly acceptable; if games were being played, then none knew how to stay ahead like he did. Until there was an adequate explanation for the sudden change from being ignored to becoming the world authority on fashion, he was not going to switch moods.

And neither was he going to stare.

"I'd better go. Miguel will be waiting outside. Remember the guy you keep seeing in two places at once- the guy who was kind enough to accompany me to the dinner party without making a fuss and then being really spiteful? I think he's coming in a car."

_Taunting me, are you? _"You've even arranged this whole farce like a proper date," Brian couldn't help adding under his breath.

"Actually, we _both_ think it's a proper date. And by the way, I think he's really hot. Like _really_ hot. Smoking. Smouldering."

"Maybe he'll burst into flames," Brian hissed. "I'll look forward to that."

He tried not to lean forward in response when he found himself staring into Justin's stormy eyes. There definitely was a nasty tension in the air that he knew he'd instigated. If only he had just complimented Justin's outfit and let him go!

"Oh very funny, Brian! But there's more: just _looking_ at him makes me want to _fuck_. In fact, afterwards, I think I might go back to his and make passionate love to him all night! We're going to be great together. I'll send you a video when we've finished. _IF_ we finish!"

Brian glared at Justin's retreating back, recalling the sentiments from way back- King of Babylon night when his fuck was stolen from right under his nose. Justin really knew how to irritate him, make smoke seep out of his ears. Make passionate love to Miguel- who the fuck did he think he was? They both knew he was a solid bottom, so where this masochistic bravado had come from remained a mystery. Send him a video- God, he was so tempted to backslap Justin then! Instead, he sat like a broiling volcano, watching the younger man leave the Loft without so much as a glance backwards.

But wait a minute- he didn't care! Let Justin go wherever the hell he wanted. See if he even raised an eyebrow. Some homo's had more important things to do than listen to the empty boasting of a cocky nineteen year old dressed to impress. Yes, he didn't care.

Not at all.

At that point, an image of Justin's hurt expression after the "Could be worse" swam into his head, and he gulped. Alright, so that was completely uncalled for. And yes… he had stomped on the unspoken truce.

Christ, he could be such a little shit at times. It wasn't intentional, else he would be a Saint. There was just a little green bug eating at him from the inside, and popping all kinds of heartless ideas into his head. Justin was not the problem, yet he knew from the way he spoke that he implied this was the case. And this was absolutely no way to treat the very person who… Would it be worth making things up with Justin in some way…?

Later.

Or… maybe now. He vaguely knew the friend who had invited Justin to the party because he had seen them speaking with Lindsay on more than one occasion. Any friend of The Munchers was bound to mix in elevated social circles, so he could imagine why Justin had gone to the trouble of dressing up for it. Would it be really so terrible if-? Could he possibly just relinquish his animosity towards it and…? Brian felt like he needed an inhaler. Just calm, he told himself, unclenching his fingers.

What was the worst that could happen? After all, he had adamantly refused to go to Prom and had wilted at the last minute. Not that he particularly was grateful for appearing given the tragedy that followed, but his intentions were good. And this was going to be a dinner party with relatively harmless people who just wanted to get together and boast about how much money they had. Justin was in no danger from these aristocrats.

So…

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

No fucking way.

Brian stood stock still staring at a figure who by now was becoming far too familiar for his own comfort. The same lace vest, the same "misunderstood" tattoo, the same kohl eyeliner… Miguel/Miguel! But… but he was supposed to be accompanying Justin to the dinner party- at least half an hour ago! So what was he doing reading a newspaper under a streetlight?

"Hey Miguel!" he called before he could stop himself. The man glanced up, grinned when he saw who it was. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Writhing and moaning underneath you as you thrust relentlessly into my ass?"

"L-Like a _dinner_ party?"

"What? First you say I was in Babylon, and now I supposed to be clinking glasses with the rich guys!"

"Look… I don't know what the fuck is going on, but you… You keep turning up in two places at once!"

"I'm not following you, Brian."

"Yesterday evening- you were at Woody's-"

"-Being rejected by you…"

"—But J- somebody saw you in the Renaissance Gallery at the Art Museum at the same time!"

"Renay- what? You aren't talking to some kind of artist here; unless you mean stick men. Haven't set foot in an Art Gallery since I was two!"

"Look, the guy specifically said, lean, dark, lace vest, kohl eyeliner—Fuck it. Come with me."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Cross the road. We're going for a little walk!"

"You lead! I hope it ends up in your apartment, that would be cool! Think of what my friends would say?"

Brian strode ahead in silence, ignoring the stream of chatter floating behind him like a cloud. He was going to clear up this mystery once and for all- a puzzle so perplexing that he had absolutely no idea why he even gave a damn about it in the first place. Somewhere, his motives were tied in with Justin but he wasn't about to admit that. No, he was more interested to know why there appeared to be a doppelganger of Miguel/Miguel, with this duplicitous character claiming to have no knowledge of places where he evidently had been seen. And he, Hercules Poirot, was going to find out why.

"Where are we going, Brian?"

"A dinner party."

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

It just so happened that the minute Brian arrived, he was dying for a piss. And it just so happened that the minute he stepped into the men's room, Justin was stepping out. Both bumped into each other violently, cursed and then reeled back when they realized who the other was.

"I thought you said-"

"Sunshine!" He emptied himself into the nearest urinal, glaring at the admiring stares he got from other men around him in the gloom. "I'm not interested," he called over his shoulder as someone "accidentally" brushed their fingers against his bare ass in passing. "So stop trying."

"Brian… I was under the impression that not even the Apocalypse would drag you here… I… Clearly I was wrong."

"Well, I figured you must have been pissed when the so-called Miguel didn't show."

"What? He _did_ show up- he's at the cocktail bar right now."

Brian allowed himself enough time to dry off his hands, before spinning around slowly, and walking towards Justin. He was calm, collected, composed. There was no imminent freak out on the horizon. Everything was just peachy dandy.

"You mean… he managed to fly from reading a newspaper underneath a street lamp to… drinking himself silly at the cocktail bar?"

"Brian… I can't believe I am even explaining this to you: _you've never seen this guy before_."

"Correction: I saw Ted introduce him to you at Babylon. But that's besides the point," he added quickly before Justin's hanging mouth could speak. "He keeps fucking showing up everywhere."

"Where is "everywhere"? We met at the club, the Art Museum and now he is at the cocktail bar."

"Nuh-uh, I saw him at the Club, then Woody's then reading under a street lamp. I brought him here to the dinner party!"

"You did not! We drove here together. Brian—are you sure you are alright? You cannot be seeing this guy exactly the same time I did."

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks for asking. Okay- one simple test: what did he tell you his name was?"

"Miguel. And if you allegedly met him at Woody's, what did he tell you his name was?"

"M-Miguel."

"You're shitting me."

"No, seriously!"

"I see what's going on here. You're jealous that I found a date for the dinner party, so you created this doppelganger in your head to fuck with me. It's childish Brian. You know I wasn't going to make you come in the first-"

"Wait a minute… D'you think…"

"What _now?_"

"Maybe Miguel has a brother," Brian muttered more to himself than to anyone else.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Brian! Look, I'm leaving now. Later."

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"There you are! I was beginning to think you'd found someone else and were giving them head in the bathroom!"

"Oh ye of little faith. By the way, do you have a brother?"

"Bit of a personal question, isn't it? What has this got to do with you, Brian? You aren't planning on fucking him to spite me, are you?"

"Maybe, if you don't answer my question quickly enough."

"Sure- his name's Miguelinho da Cunha. A real pain in the ass when we were growing up. Dad sent him to private school so he could become a Naval Engineer."

"Fascinating."

"When he found out I was gay, he kicked me out."

Brian fell silent, suddenly focusing on the man in front of him. It was the same old story they all had to live- the pain of backlash for being who they were. The same struggle for an identity, the same knowledge that they were starkly different to everyone else… For a moment, he spared a shred of sympathy for Miguel.

"I guess that explains the "Misunderstood" tattoo."

"I got it done right after I was cut off," Miguel explained, eyes downcast. "I was full of anger, I wanted to send a message to the world about homophobia…"

"Ah." Brian nodded awkwardly. "Well… Ass is better than vagina, so…"

Miguel laughed, cheering up a little. "I have to agree with you there."

"Most people do. So… where's your brother- if you don't mind me asking?"

"Last time he called me, he said he was headed to Pennsylvania. We aren't in contact that often; I resented him for being Dad's favourite, you see. What? Did I say something?"

"Miguelinho… Miguel… Pittsburgh… Spain… Woody's and the Art Museum… Two places at once, doppelgangers… Fuck me!"

"Love to."

"You're twins!"

"Well, duh- Sherlock! Same name- although I was born first, so he's Little Miguel. Why is this any of your business, anyway?"

"Because uh… someone I know is… sort of dating your brother. Here."

"So _that's_ why you keep claiming I was all over the show! Who's the girl?"

"Turns out your dad raised two- gay- twins!" Brian laughed. "And Miguelinho dresses exactly like you, with the oversized tat, slutty lace vest and too much eyeliner! You're a match!"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Well that was a whole two days wasted puzzling over something totally irrelevant and stupid.

Brian eventually picked out Miguelinho, who was laughing hysterically at something with Justin. That did it; he couldn't take this any longer. He practically had to drag Miguel away from ogling a passer-by with the promise of meeting his twin, whilst conveniently failing to mention that he was more interested in winning back his… part-time lover than witnessing a teary-eyed reunion worthy of the silver screen. He ignored the stream of curses behind him as he almost crashed into anything and anyone in his quest- and of course, the continual offers of sex he received from the usual bevy of admirers.

It was Miguelinho who caught sight of his brother first, and whose jaw seemed to drop off- before Justin glanced around and stared at the newcomer.

"Brian, what the fuck?"

"Tchau, Miguelinho?!"

"Tchau, Miguel?!"

"_Told_ you I wasn't a nutcase, Sunshine!"

Brian wasn't sure what the separate responses were to each statement because everyone had spoken at once. There was only one objective on his mind; grabbing Justin's hand and pulling him away from the brothers until they were standing as close as possible in the midst of other laughing couples swaying gently to some soft music in the background. He could vaguely hear the clinking of glasses, rabid chatter as these boring people babbled on about their repetitive lives. The only thing that was crystal clear were the confused, expectant eyes fixed on his.

"Brian… What is your game? I was supposed to be with Miguel."

"Fuck Miguel. And by the way, his real name is Miguelinho, because he was born after his brother Miguel. Portuguese suffix meaning "little" in case you didn't know…"

Justin rolled his eyes, smiling. "I love it when you think you're so smart- it's cute."

"What did you find so funny with him, then?" he asked far more gently than he intended.

"Oh, just childhood stories."

"Sounds like a scream." His arms slowly wound their way around Justin's neck. "I see you managed to tie your own tie this time. Impressive. You look… hot, by the way. _I'd_ fuck you!"

That blinding smile returned. "Really? I thought you said-"

"Yeah… that was a little unfair. So- enjoying the dinner party?"

"S'alright. But where are all the beautiful people? Apart from _you_…"

Brian laughed before he realized it, pressing their foreheads together. There were times when Justin stopped being irritating and was simply so… so fucking _sweet_… "They're at Babylon- just as all good homo's are. And some _asshole_ told me Miguelinho made him want to fuck- and that he would send me the video when-"

"—I just said that to make you jealous! Apparently, it worked!"

"Bullshit." He watched Justin continue to laugh, feeling that odd stirring of affection- and something deeper- inside of him at the sight of it. "I didn't have much to do this evening, so I thought "what the hell?" And it turned out I was right about seeing Miguel at Woody's and the street lamp. How does my ass taste?"

"You're so funny… But there's no need to pretend all the time; I _know_ you love me, deeply, passionately- right?"

Brian- perhaps wisely- chose not to answer, instead just smiled blankly at the man in his arms, feeling as though something had been put back in its rightful place inside of him. The vague noises of the outside world melded into nothing as the music closed in on his ears and his vision was filled with nothing but Justin, Justin, Justin… The synchronised sway of their bodies like the gentle movement of waves on a beach lulled him into a dreamy, intoxicating stupor he never wanted to wake up from.

It was only natural to his mind that they should wind up lost in a deep kiss a minute, maybe a century later. Everything about them was so right, so faultless that he wondered at his previous attitude. A shudder of pleasure engulfed him when Justin opened his mouth, allowing further access, greater contact. Their argument was history, Miguel and Miguelinho were no longer losing him any sleep. All he had to do was kiss this perfect mouth until he had to pull himself away for air.

Or the host came and told him to stop.

("D'you two mind?! We're trying to _eat_ here!")

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this instalment. I have some prompts lined up from members on MidNight Whispers , which is primarily dedicated to Brian/Justin fanfiction. Members of are welcome to give me prompts. These must be based on 3 words. Nothing OOC, please. I will mention your name at the beginning. Feedback is welcome! **


	3. Zit Cream, Bellweather and Hypocrisy

**PROMPT #3: ZIT CREAM, BELLWEATHER AND LOTS OF HYPOCRISY**

* * *

"Do you want to know a fascinating fact?" I ask Brian one evening. I'm lounging on his couch, devouring a packet of French fries whilst my boyfriend slumps over his desk. It's one of those uneventful nights at The Loft, where I don't wander in to the sounds of wild fucking and have to trip over butt-plugs and some stranger's boxer shorts on my way to the fridge. I wish more of our time together was spent like this.

"Not really, no."

"Icebergs can take up to 1000 years to travel from the Arctic to the North Atlantic Ocean."

"Yeah," Brian murmurs, scribbling something on a pad. "Pretty sure I said no?"

That's how our conversations usually go. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time we actually discussed anything that wasn't sex-related or inspired by alcohol. It's mostly the fucking that does the talking with us- and that is because Brian is notoriously non-communicative. And I mean that literally; the slightest thing goes wrong and he clams up. There was this time he slipped in the shower and dislocated his shoulder; I didn't find out until a week after it happened. A week! And that was because I happened to see a bandage kit in his gym bag. But that's the status quo. If not for our sexual chemistry, we wouldn't be on speaking terms.

"Well, I just decided to say it anyway to enrich your mind. There is more to life than fucking and advertising, you know."

"The only way I will be enriched is if I find a way to make zit cream sexy- got any good ideas?"

"Hot models?"

"I _never_ would have thought of that!"

"Point taken."

Brian works at Vangard, the best advertising agency in Pittsburgh. His major account at the moment is the homophobic (code word "family values") Jim Stockwell, who is currently running for mayor. When not selling out like a whore, Brian keeps busy enacting his Reign of Terror over the Art Department in order to meet absurd deadlines. He's won shitloads of awards and is the firm's top account winner.

But it would appear that for zit cream, even the Great One is stumped; he's been poring over papers and magazines to no avail- and growing increasingly anti-social. Which isn't good news for me; a reasonable Brian Kinney is rare enough- an agitated Brian Kinney is a fucking disaster.

Tonight, though, he has been relatively calm. And by that I mean the only casualty was his mp3 player which he chucked across the room because the battery died in the middle of this crappy metal rock song he really likes.

So far, so good.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"I've got it!"

I am just about to come my brains out when Brian abruptly stops thrusting inside me. As though to add insult to injury, he withdraws from my ass, snaps his fingers and jumps off the bed. Great timing. I was on track for one of my best orgasms ever when his Eureka moment had to strike; life is so unfair sometimes.

"Bri-_an_," I whine, trying to get my breathing under control. "What the fuck? Can't it wait?"

"Creativity doesn't punch a time clock, Sunshine! There is more to life than fucking, you know… Who is that friend of yours again? The one who has seen me naked?"

I am not in the mood to answer his questions, since he left me hanging off a bridge, but he's doing that thing with his eyebrows that ensures the silent treatment is not an option.

"Many of my friends have seen you naked; you're going to have to be more specific."

"Biology."

"What? Oh- you mean Daphne?

"Yeah. Bring her round here tomorrow night. I need her assistance with this damn zit cream."

"Oh, so that's why you withdrew so suddenly," I assume, coming over to wrap my arms around him. "See? Every problem has a solution… And now you owe me an orgasm…"

"I was going about it the wrong way," he explains quietly, but I get the impression he isn't actually talking to me- more like thin air. "But I think I can see it now… Zit cream… transformed into a new dimension. Even people without zits will want to buy this shit!"

"I'll bring her then…" I get no reply, but I wasn't expecting one. I just hope that Daphne doesn't have to revise tomorrow evening… although I do get the distinct feeling she would turn up anyway.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

My suspicions are proven correct when she strides into the loft, grinning. Even though I explained to her several times that she would only be helping Brian with some work, I see she's put on lip gloss, tied her hair back and is wearing a tank top… That little minx. What does she think this is, a date?! As it happens, her efforts are not wasted, as Brian gives her an appreciative glance when he returns from work- one that she does not miss, of course.

Okay. So this could be _interesting._

I roll my eyes and find something else to do; life is too short for this kind of thing- plus I don't particularly want to hear Brian telling her how fuckable she looks. I wonder what he'd say if he knew I've slept with Daphne. Super weird, I know. Heterosexual sex is way overrated, in my humble opinion. So gradually, I tune out of my surroundings, lost in an imitation of Salvador Dali's Melting Watches for an hour or two. The next time I glance up, Daphne says bye to me with a shit-eating grin, waving a sizeable wad of cash, and glancing behind me, I see Brian pouring himself an excessive helping of wine and switching on the TV.

A productive meeting, no doubt.

"You know, inviting young women into your apartment and sending them on their way with cash is what heterosexual men do… You haven't jumped ship, have you?"

"I'm crying with laughter… As it happens, your dear friend Daphne has helped raise the Titanic…"

"How's that?" I know next to nothing about zit cream except the advertising for it is painfully misleading- trust me, I relied on that shit for years during high school.

"Now that I understand the full chemical functions of the ingredients, I can now devise a campaign that puts that knowledge into full effect. It's as good as done…"

He says all of this in a drawl, as though spouting scientific jargon was just a casual hobby of his. He's stretched out languorously on his Italian couch in a black wife-beater and stone-washed jeans with a glass of wine in his hand, idly flicking channels. How the fuck does he do it?

"Oh, that's nice," I manage after a few pauses, but my eyes are roaming over his figure. As I explained earlier, I'm not exactly in my right mind when around him. Call it dysfunctional, if anything else- but I just can't help it. "And you know what would be even nicer? Taking off your clothes and fucking me… Whilst I watch TV."

"Or you could go do your homework," he muses, settling on a bland comedy drama that isn't funny.

But when I walk away, he yanks me down on top of him.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

For once, Brian actually pays attention to me when I get home. In fact, he is trying to make it look as though he _isn't _interested in my arrival, using his completely unconvincing _"I'm reading a newspaper"_ act. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to realize that constantly glancing up from said newspaper doesn't give the impression he is that engrossed in it.

"So you have returned," he drawls, apparently concerned with the share prices of Russian oil. "How was college?"

I allow myself to pour out a full glass of orange juice before my mouth starts working again, and attempt an answer. Remember what I said about Brian showing little to no interest in life? This enquiry therefore comes as a shock. "College was fine, thank you for asking. We were studying the famous works of Surrealist painter Rene Magritte."

"What, the guy who drew that man with an apple over his face?"

He amazes me. Underneath all that "I don't give a fuck" attitude, he comes up with these random hints of his secret personality- better, he only seems to show them to me.

"Uh yes… It's called "Son of Man". You like Magritte?"

"Never you mind, Sunshine!"

Typical. But the pregnant pause that follows is a clear instruction for me to ask him how his day was in return. "Erm… how was work?"

_Now_ he puts down the damn paper with that infuriating smirk of his. "Not bad; Don Kinney… may or may not have completed the ad for that fucking zit cream."

"Hm, I'll take a wild stab in the dark and say you _have_…"

"That is the correct answer!" he quips in his Quiz Master voice like those shows on TV. "You get A+… and a Lamborghini." I laugh as I am dragged to his computer and pushed unceremoniously into the chair whilst he hits play on the waiting screen. Obviously he has been planning this, but would die before ever admitting it- I have to say it's a pretty sweet gesture (by his standards). Having seen a lot of his material adorning everywhere from billboards to shop windows to public toilet stalls, I know what to expect. Brian Kinney does extravagant, in your face, unforgettable- even if the ad gets annoying after a while.

I have to say he isn't half bad. Okay; he's genius. The camera angles are spot on, the use of light and dark is inspired, the placement of the models in proportion to the product always precise. It's artist's heaven. Which kind of annoys me, because as I mentioned earlier, Brian's ego is enough to make a grown man cry; it would be nice to find his Achilles Heel once in a blue moon…

However, this isn't it so I sit back and watch. Everything is dark until there is a flash of lightning, and then a tub of Cremler's _Zit No More_ Cream materialises out of thin air. The image is slightly jagged, and I can see a faint hint of orange playing against the black background. Then the scene changes fluidly, as though the camera image were made of water droplets, and some exotic Eastern music starts playing. I'm now seeing a men's locker room, where a naked guy slowly, sensuously rubs zit cream onto his jawline, with his eyes closed as though in a trance.

_What?_

Then there is a naked woman clutching at her Rosary whilst she massages cream onto her forehead. The camera gives a very ample view of her breasts and I am left speechless. I thought this was about zit cream! Before I have a chance to answer my own churning thoughts, the screen goes black again and silver words materialize out of the gloom.

"_Cremler's Solution. Cream yourself. Scream for more."_

Brian snickers like a fifteen year old, rubbing his hands together, whilst I fight to regain consciousness. My mind is in total disarray- which I am sure, is not the expected reaction when playing an ad to a tested audience.

"So… what do you think?"

"It's…" I search around for the right word to use. "It's… You can't use that, Brian."

"Why not?"

"It's practically _porn_! I mean, you've just made sure that _nobody_ will be able to think of zit cream in the same way again!"

He laughs, and kisses my temple. "Ex-actly! And let's hope those spotty teenagers agree!"

"Come ON, Brian; _"cream yourself"?!_ And what's with the moaning or the nudity? It's completely inappropriate! Back to the drawing board, Einstein!"

He simply cackles even more and kisses me again.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

At first, Brian's arrogance seems justified.

There is some backlash, but nothing Vangard can't cope with; in fact, Vance thinks the ad is superb.

And of course, sales of Cremler's go through the roof within hours of the ad's launch. Brian gets even richer. One day I come home to find a pair of designer sneakers on the kitchen table with a note saying _"Get those dirty, worn sneakers you keep wearing out of my sight!"_ He himself turns up later in a brand new suit and six pairs of sunglasses even though it's the middle of November. He claims the winter sun gets in his eyes when he drives, but we both know he just wants to show off.

I love my new sneakers though.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Then- as I predicted- the whole thing blows up Brian's ass.

_Santa Maria_, the local Catholic newspaper, calls for Brian's excommunication- a useless request since Brian thinks _he_ is God. And of course, that slime-ball Howard Bellweather just has to stick his self-righteous snout into the mess, writing a series of articles condemning Brian Kinney as the most harmful stereotype that plagues gay culture today.

Even Michael- who has made it his life's work to defend Brian- gives him a strongly-worded lecture at the Diner, which I am almost sure is completely ignored. Debbie shakes her head, but Vic quietly approves. Daphne is delighted; I see the two of them congratulate each other with another session of cringe-worthy flirting on a street corner a few days later.

Brian doesn't mind all that, but when public outcry grows stronger than expected, he starts looking a little edgy- but pretends- of course- that it's no big deal. "They'll get over it," he insists. But I keep seeing him re-reading a certain article in the _Pittsburgh Wanderer_ and know he fears the exact opposite. When I ask him what it says, he grows secretive, and changes the topic, so I end up buying the paper myself to find out what is bugging him.

_Then_ I see why he's got ants in his pants:

"_The infamous Brian Kinney, 31, of Vangard Advertising is in hot water over an ad for a well-known pharmaceutical company. _

_Inside the thirty second feature, naked men and women lather themselves in zit cream against a backdrop of suggestive moaning and Eastern music. One of the actors even carries a Rosary, which has sent Catholics around the city up in arms._

"_It's disgusting!" Father Peter of the Pittsburgh Priesthood Association shouted on Santa Maria radio hours after release; "This man is a disgrace!"_

_In response, senior partner Gardner Vance has issued a statement saying that since the ad is to the satisfaction of his client, his agency will not remove it. _

_However, he places both himself as well as Kinney in the line of fire from irate members of the public who feel that this campaign has gone too far. _

"_For the life of me I cannot understand why simple zit cream has to be turned into something sexual," said Hayley, a representative of the GLC, "This man's tasteless ideas are getting out of hand!"_

_Famed author and radio host Howard Bellweather was quick to weigh in on the affair:_

"_What we have here is a cheap, badly shot porn movie masquerading as hope for thousands of teenagers who suffer real anxiety on account of common skin problems like acne." He has been an adamant critic of Brian Kinney, and other gay people who, according to him, perpetrate harmful stereotypes about the community. "Previously, Kinney was riding on looks and profile to get away with murder… Now people can see what a talentless hack he is."_

_Bellweather is so incensed by Kinney's work that he has formed the pressure group "Stop Kinney". He wants the ad exec fired from Vangard and all his ads pulled off TV and billboards. Even if unsuccessful, Kinney is unlikely to survive the bad publicity and has everything to lose financially. A bad reputation would surely put off any potential clients and affect sales of Kinney's other accounts. He might even be forced to resign by Vangard. _

"_When asked about the chances of success, the heads of the GLC Tanys and Philip assert that "We feel confident. He has annoyed so many people in the past, and this is a great time to show him that money and swagger aren't infallible."_

_The group (already seventy members strong) have been meeting regularly at the GLC and have even set up their own online community where hundreds of visitors have come to share their support for the project. Bellweather says he is overwhelmed by the positive response. _

"_The message is clear: Pittsburgh is fed up of Brian Kinney. Last year I was the lone voice crying out in the wilderness, and now this arrogant half-wit who has no shame in pursuing sexual relations with a college student is being exposed for the terrible role model that he is. If I were Kinney, I'd be __**very**__ worried right now."_

_Watch this space."_

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Despite warning Brian repeatedly not to use the ad, I still end up ranting about Howard Bellweather whilst a patient Michael and Lindsay stand by in the comic-book store the next day, nodding at the appropriate moments. Eventually, when I run out of steam, Lindsay hands me a chocolate cookie as an appeasement gift.

"We know, sweetie," she soothes, rubbing my shoulder. "Bellweather has never been a friend of Brian's, but all the same he is entitled to his opinion…"

"But they'll put Brian out of business!" I argue- at least this is the only part I can actually justify being outraged about. "Is that fair? Brian has rights to freedom of expression too! If they pull his work and trash his reputation, he's finished!"

"Point," Michael agrees, frowning, "but what can we do? Bellweather is an acclaimed author, and a lot of people respect him, gay _and_ straight. His ideas have been broadcast around a lot of outlets, and he has a considerable following!"

For some reason, Michael frowns and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "bare-backing", but I put it out of my mind.

"Plus cash from all his bullshit," I add with a snort. "Well, we have to do _something_!"

Lindsay shrugs with a small, ironic laugh. "Like what, honey? You know how Brian is about people helping him out; he'll want to weather the storm himself."

"You could try assassinating all members of the group!" Ted quips, coming out from under a pile of comic books. He's an accountant, and one of the most sarcastic people I have ever known- needless to say, I don't particularly appreciate his snide remarks now. "What's the tantrum for, Justin? Didn't we tell him not to go ahead with the ad? Right. He didn't listen. If I were him, I would seriously consider a future stacking shelves in Walmart."

I glare at him, not because he is wrong, but because I can. "Well, _I_ am going to do something about it; Brian may have his… faults, but he doesn't deserve this."

"J.T to the rescue!" Michael concludes with a grudging smile. "Hey- won't this be a great idea for our next issue?!"

I have to laugh; his enthusiasm is infectious. Ever since we decided to create the comic series _"Rage"_, with its hero based on Brian, it seems that everything that happens to us is a brilliant idea for the next issue. Like in our tenth issue, Rage gets food poisoning, which is precisely what happened a couple of weeks ago when Brian ate a dodgy looking salmon salad at this sleazy restaurant on the other side of town. J.T (that's me) has to massage his stomach to stop the vomiting whilst Zephyr (Michael) searches for an antidote. That was a popular issue.

"Not if Rage ends up collecting Unemployment…"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"Mr Taylor, this is a free country and I am entitled to express my distaste with your lover's crude sense of humour."

Howard Bellweather sits upright behind a desk in the GLC, fingers interlaced and wearing his most condescending expression. He reeks of self-righteousness; I detst the very sight of him even more than before. Nevertheless, I remain seated in the nearest cheap plastic chair he grudgingly offers me and watch birds flying around aimlessly outside.

"Mr Bellweather, unless I am mistaken, Brian is living in the same country and is, by extension, granted the same rights. So what is your problem?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, _Taylor, _this so-called advert features material that upstanding members of our community find offensive."

"_Really_… Howard Bellweather, self-appointed spokesman- as always. Because you are the _most_ morally upstanding man on the planet- tell me, does being a presumptuous egg-head ever get boring?"

"If you requested this meeting to insult me, Taylor, then I suggest you leave." I hate the way he says my surname, like he's my fucking professor, but I bite my tongue and ignore him. "You are a very brave and spirited young man and though I understand how it was easy to fall under this predator's spell, this would be the second time you have come to preach to me about matters beyond your simplistic understanding. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

God, I hate him- but I have class in an hour and have to go.

So much for _that_ plan.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Next, I try knocking some sense into Tanys and Phillip:

"Sorry, Mr Taylor- but this was Howard's idea and quite frankly, I think it is about time!"

Tanys growls like a dog and she certainly looks as though she might eat someone when she gets sufficiently riled. Philip looks like God found a bunch of sticks and stapled them together; in short, they are perfect for each other.

"I don't see what you find so funny, Justin," Philip admonishes me in his silly girlish voice. "We are not going to convince Howard to stop. He is an amazing man, who has been a moral guide to our gay and lesbian community for years. He is also an award winner and has a high public profile."

I don't know why he thinks I am even remotely interested in Howard Bellweather's accomplishments, when I am trying so hard to make my contempt for him blindingly obvious. "Doesn't it seem a little hypocritical to offer Brian the Outstanding Gay Hero Award last year and then suddenly accuse him of being a bad role model?"

That was my secret ace, and the shocked silence that follows is hugely gratifying. I swear I almost have a hard-on, I am so pleased with myself. From the panicked glances they share with each other, my message has hit home. Taylor: 1, GLC: 0. Whilst they scramble for a suitable come back, I examine my nails and consider a future as an attorney.

Eventually, Tanys clears her throat.

"The idea is Bellweather's," she repeats, glaring at me. "Discuss it with him."

Damn- that was _not_ supposed to happen! "I already have and he ignored everything I said!"

"Then that is _his_ decision- and we have nothing further to say on it. Now, if you'll excuse us…"

Yes, I agree with Brian; fuck the GLC.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

And then I have my brainwave.

It's one of those rare, rare nights when we switch places, and I get to fuck Brian. He wasn't pleased about this, to the point that I almost had to call in a SWAT team to make him cooperate, but here I am, fucking the shit out of him and he's gasping like anything and threatening to pull out fistfuls of my hair.

Which is the precise point that I hatch a particularly devilish plan.

"Eureka!" I exclaim, withdrawing from him abruptly.

"What the FUUUU…" Brian trails off, gasping as his come spatters all over my chest. "You fucking… Archimedes, or whaaa…?"

I laugh, pleased with his incoherence. He likes to pretend he isn't affected by my undeniable charms, but his actions always belie him. Whilst towelling myself off, I smile even more, wondering why I didn't think of this before, especially since given the right amount of persuasion and the measure of threat behind my words, I could just kick _"Stop Kinney"_ squarely in the ass.

"What you so pleased about? You made me come too early; you now owe me another blowjob."

"No such thing as "too early"- and it doesn't concern you…" I kiss his chest and settle down beside him. "…Yet."

Tomorrow is going to be a good day.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"What _now_, Taylor?"

"I just thought you should be the first to hear this… I mean, I have no reason to give you fair warning, but I wouldn't want it weighing on my conscience, and…"

"Just get to the point," Tanys snaps, brushing back a wispy strand of her hair. "We haven't got all day!"

"Brian is… beyond furious about _"Stop Kinney"_," I stutter, lowering my gaze. "I have tried to reason with him, but he won't listen to me. He sees no other alternative but to sue all three of you."

"What?!" Howard sputters, almost spitting out his coffee. "Nonsense! He would never even… I am a _critically acclaimed_ author and radio host, in case you didn't know!"

As if authors and radio hosts are above the law; this man is further up his own ass than Brian! "He is perfectly aware of your celebrity status- and that has not deterred him from taking legal action."

"Ask him what he is talking about!" Howard snaps, gesturing between Phillip and me. A slight breeze filters in through the window, whipping up what remains of his hair, making him look like he's been electrocuted; at his age, he probably can't afford to hear such terrible news. "This is madness! Utter madness!"

"Justin… what on earth is going on?" Philip wails, throwing his rakish arms in mid-air. "If we are implicated in whatever legal action Brian plans to take, the financial consequences could be ruinous to the GLC!"

"And to my career as a writer!"

"Brian feels that "Stop Kinney" is nothing but a self-righteous hate group that is using libel as a blackmailing tool," I explain as calmly as I can manage- even stopping to take an unnecessary sip of coffee just to increase their impatience. "He also notes that since the GLC were so _kind_ as to honour him with an Outstanding Gay Hero award last year-" Here, I pause to hide a Kinney-like smirk, "their insistence on tarnishing his image is defamation of character. He wants… $50,000 in damages."

"WHAT?!" they all screech, bouncing out of their chairs like a fucking Jack-in-the-Box.

"Plus a Cease and Desist order issued to all three of you," I continue, deciding to improvise for all I am worth. I have heard my lawyer friend Melanie Marcus use these terms before, so I assume that from their reactions, I am making perfect sense. "…and a formal apology stating that you deeply regret the hurt and embarrassment you have caused him. Oh- and that you are all sucking sacks of shit!"

"We'll do no such thing!" Tanys thunders- and I could have sworn the chairs and tables in the GLC hall rattle in fear of her voice. "_He_ is the one blackmailing _us_! I'm calling my lawyer!"

With a smile, I seize my advantage. "Think carefully about this; if you just drop the whole group, then you won't have to face the public embarrassment of going to court because you disliked one of Brian's ads."

"We are on the side of the _public_!" Howard repeats, tilting his chin to emphasise his point. "We have rights to free speech!"

"Which part of free speech involves screwing Brian's job, his career? Has he ever done that to you… any of you?"

None of them answer me immediately- which isn't surprising, because guilt-tripping is one of the best forms of manipulation. I hear the clock tick minutes away in the background, and a couple of cars whizz past, probably defying the speed limit. Still, the three minions refuse to answer my question, so- with a theatrical sigh- I decide to continue.

"Hiding behind the public just to get your revenge on Brian Kinney isn't really one of the founding ideals of the GLC and it won't do much to help the gay community. I am only advising you now because- as I mentioned- Brian is _apoplectic _with _rage._ In fact, when I left him this morning, he was already on the phone to the _toughest _lawyers in town, and has begun to draft out his opening statement! He's like a cannon- nothing will stop him… and I really don't want to see you guys embroiled in a public scandal over this."

"_Really_," Howard sneers, "Or maybe your beloved Mr. Kinney sent you here to threaten us whilst he continues to prepare his legal defence… Damn that fellow," he continues, growing agitated once more; "He can't do this! He _can't_!"

"Actually he can- and he _will_- unless I leave here with a… _favourable_ answer from you three…"

I lean back in my chair with a guileless smile, watching them all crumble into dust.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Two days later, I am pouring out my morning orange juice when I catch sight of Brian staring, dumbfounded at his copy of the _Pittsburgh Post_.

"Hey- what's up?" I ask airily, coming round the table to peer over his shoulder- even though I have a vague feeling of what he is looking at. Still, I don't trust that dog Bellweather- not even with the false threat of legal action.

However, my eyes catch the headline, _"Stop Kinney Disbanded"_, and my heart soars. I am a fucking genius. On the inside cover, Howard Bellweather, Tanys and Phillip are standing together for a miserable photo-op with the sub-heading _"Pressure Group End Campaign Against Ad Exec."_

"_After much consideration," Tanys explained, "We have decided that there are more pressing issues in our society than Mr. Kinney's ad."_

"_Though it is still beyond offensive," Howard Bellweather added, "And no doubt those socially conscious members of our society understand that too. We are still on their side…"_

"He doesn't want to appear inconsistent," I murmur with a grin.

"…_Nevertheless, at this point, we feel that Mr. Kinney thrives on attention, and we do not want our actions… to be misconstrued."_

_When our journalists asked Mr. Bellweather to expand on what he meant by that comment, he became evasive._

"_I'm not at liberty to speak about that," he insisted, "The most important thing is that we still stand strong in our beliefs, but feel at this critical phase, we need to move in a new direction."_

_Our journalists asked whether the website would be closed down; Mr Bellweather confirmed this emphatically. _

"_Oh yes; it was pretty expensive to host, anyway."_

_When asked what prompted this sudden change of heart, the author once more became secretive. _

"_I don't see it as a "sudden change of heart", he explained, seeming annoyed with our suggestion. "More as a culmination of serious discussions with… With each other."_

"_That's right," Philip added quickly. "We respect each other and came to this decision in a rational way."_

"_But that is not the important thing," Bellweather continued, "What the public should understand is that the people have a voice and that we have the right to demand accountability from our public institutions when—"_

"…Blah blah blah," I trailed off, rolling my eyes. "His moral lectures work better than an overdose on Xanax."

Brian laughs, but I get the feeling he hasn't really acknowledged the joke. He's holding the paper in his hand, but seems to see something beyond the pages- and whatever it is has caught him unawares; he is speechless. Understand that this rarely happens; Brian Kinney has an answer for everything… Except this.

"But…" he argues weakly, "I don't understand…"

"It's a mystery," I pretend to agree and I kiss him soundly on the lips. "Who cares? Brian Kinney is back in business!"

"Yeah… Yeah, I guess so. Fucking hell," I hear him mutter, moving towards the front door. "Mel was right; shit does _not_ stick to me…"

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

Michael, Lindsay and Ted smile at me in the Diner the next day. They must have read the paper too and understood whose hand was behind it, but Brian is still telling anyone who will listen that he has absolutely no idea why the group disbanded. He tries not to betray his overwhelming relief- even though he knows all too well that "Stop Kinney" could have cost him a fucking fortune. Now that he is once again secure in his job, nothing is stopping his ego from breaching outer space; according to him, the article is indisputable proof of his invincibility. He is even pretending that he knew "Stop Kinney" would go tits up all along!

Anyone who was fed up of him before now wants his guts on a silver platter.

"Does he _ever_ shut up?!" I hear someone complain over a coffee at the Diner- and I can't help agreeing with them.

"Guess your ads will tone down a little, huh?" Ted suggests, with that triumphant smirk he always wears whenever Brian gets into trouble. "Plans for a full scale orgy on TV may need to be shelved."

"Seriously Brian, you need to avoid getting into trouble like this," Michael warns him, shaking his head like he's fed up of the world's wicked ways. "You might not be so lucky next time."

"Ha! No one can beat me! I dare the fucking President to try and sue me!"

"Until then, just make sure you thank your guardian angel before you go to sleep," Lindsay advises, smiling at me again. "He is _much, much closer_ to you than you think…"

And then Brian stares at me for the rest of the day.

**~ooooOOOOoooo~**

"I have a new account; sun tan lotion! Cremler's recommended me to the company!"

"No way!" I laugh, coming up to hug Brian. "After the whole zit cream fiasco?"

"_Told _you I'd crawl out smelling like roses! Boy, am I going to have fun with _this _one…"

Later, as we make love, I could swear he leans in and whispers something that makes my heart stop, as though the moment were completely unreal… a product of my own wishful imagination. It's just a scratchy sound that I replay a thousand times over in my head before I come… gasping and panting like a thirsty bastard. Four words and they mean everything to me in the world right then. Four words that justify why we're together; all I have ever wanted from him. Something to say he appreciates me, that it's worth me being here after all…

He says, "Whatever you did… Thanks."

* * *

**NOTES: The "Misadventures" are back! I can't commit to a posting schedule because I have too many tings on my plate, but I do have another two instalments written out and ready for editing. **

**Readers are free to submit prompts and ideas. Nothing OOC or predictable, though.**

**As ever, concrit appreciated.**

**All names, places and associations are fictional. I should have done some research, but hey- life is too short. **


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